


The Evils of Truth and Love

by cojv



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dark Bruce Wayne, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cojv/pseuds/cojv
Summary: After being infected with an altered version of insanity gas, Bruce Wayne finds himself following a path that he never thought he could take. A path that leads straight into the arms of no other than criminal mastermind Jeremiah Valeska.





	The Evils of Truth and Love

Ever since Ra’s and Jeremiah’s plan to blow the bridges had been stopped, the city had been on high alert. Everyone, the GCPD and regular citizens alike, had been waiting for Jeremiah’s next plan of attack, although the person on highest alert had to be Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had been looking for Jeremiah far and wide, from the Narrows to Uptown, but to no avail. Bruce desperately wanted to find him, to bring him in to the GCPD for his crimes, for almost killing Alfred, for _nearly_ killing Selina. So, he went out every night, tracked down every street thug he could, and questioned them, usually through intimidation, sometimes through violence. His attempts were ultimately unsuccessful. No one knew where Jeremiah resided, but that didn’t stop the rumors spreading through the city like wildfire.

There was talk that Jeremiah had teamed up with Victor Fries, and that they had been building an underground network of cronies. There was talk that Jeremiah had taken control over the new Red Hood crew, and they were plotting to blow up the GCPD. There was even talk that Jeremiah had left Gotham altogether. That theory was the one that Bruce disliked the most.

Like every other criminal, Jeremiah needed to serve a sentence for his transgressions, Bruce firmly believed that, so the thought of Jeremiah escaping like a coward genuinely got on Bruce’s nerves. It made his exigency to find Jeremiah grow exponentially. So, when he finally got a tip from some thug about the whereabouts of Tetch, who might possibly know about the whereabouts of Jeremiah, he went without hesitation and only a half-cocked plan that could easily get him killed. Not that this was a new habit or anything. He knew his spontaneous outings and the ever-increasing injuries he was coming home with were concerning to Alfred, and he did feel bad about causing more stress for his guardian, but this was a lead he couldn’t pass up.

Bruce was well aware that Tetch was dangerous. The man had almost killed Jim Gordon with ease for crying out loud, the hypnotist wasn’t someone to be messed with. But the idea of getting a hold on Jeremiah consumed Bruce’s thoughts. Bruce had a habit of fixating on things, like when he fixated on finding his parents’ killer, and Jeremiah seemed to be his current obsession. So he took the tip, the frightened word of the criminal, that Tetch would be in an abandoned building near Gotham City Harbor, tomorrow night, to meet with some arms dealers about buying equipment.

Bruce donned his regular attire, a sleek black bullet proof suit courtesy of Lucius, and he made his way to the shipyard. It was a regular night in Gotham, the air crisp and the city still perpetually awake. He passed a few crimes on his way, stopping a small robbery, along with an almost stabbing.

He passed one of Selina’s current squats, a rundown loft like place that she found when she got out of the hospital. He debated on maybe finding her, asking her to tag along, but decided against it. Ever since her release, she had been different. Bruce should have heeded Ivy’s warnings about the seed he had given Selina, but he wanted to help her. She was losing all hope, and if he was honest, he was losing hope too, so Ivy’s seemingly miraculous cure was his only option. He didn’t regret giving it to her, not at all, but now he was cautious around her. She was dead set on revenge, she wanted an eye for an eye, wanted to kill Jeremiah for almost killing her. While Bruce understood her point of view, he couldn’t necessarily agree with it.

He oscillated on the sidewalk near her place, but decided against it seeing as Selina would more likely slow him down than help. He continued on his voyage, his nerves growing a bit as he got closer to the harbor. It felt as if it took hours before he finally arrived at the address. He took a brief moment to analyze the building before going in.

It was obvious that the place was abandoned, the metal walls of the structure were rusted, a _No Trespassing_ sign plastered firmly on the front. There were no guards outside, which Bruce noted. That was odd. Typically there were a few men outside that kept watch just in case any cops tried to bust the arms deal. Actually, it seemed like no one whatsoever was around. The shipyard was eerily desolate, only the distant sounds of water could be heard.

Bruce ignored his suspicions, keeping them in mind, but moving through with his plan to quietly sneak in and wait for Tetch to be alone before he cornered him. The thing is, he knew it was a trap the instant he walked through the door. There was no one in there, no arms dealers at all, nothing in the entire building besides Tetch, who stood facing the door, about ten feet away, a maddening grin on his face.

Bruce weighed his options. He could run, but if he did he wouldn’t get the information, and he would just be letting Tetch walk free, which was unacceptable. He could try to fight Tetch, but the man always seemed to have an ace up his sleeve, and he was a proficient fighter according to all sources Bruce checked. His best option seemed to be to keep his distance, make sure not to get hypnotized, and figure out why the hell Tetch even wanted to trap him. It didn’t really make any sense, for Tetch to plant fake information just so it got back to Bruce - the man obviously had something he wanted to say, and he was curious. Bruce hesitantly took a step closer, causing Tetch’s grin to grow even wider.

“Ah yes, Bruce Wayne has finally come! Yet, he didn’t bring anyone with him, a smart move, or dumb?” Tetch singsonged, moving a bit from where he stiffly stood, his long trench coat flowing as he did so. Bruce frowned at his words. Was Tetch expecting him to bring someone?

“You got me here. Now tell me what you want,” Bruce said slowly as he stepped forward. Tetch merely stepped forward as well until they were only a few feet apart.

“What I want! Oh, it will cause upheaval! Because I want you to becom-”

Bruce interrupted him, not wanting to hear anymore of his cryptic rhymes, and he pulled out the gun he had strapped firmly around his waist. Despite Lucius having designed it to look very convincing as a firearm, it was actually just a rather effective stun gun as per Bruce’s request, hopefully the hypnotist wasn’t knowledgeable enough in the design of guns to notice. Tetch cut off his words as he saw the weapon, and merely smiled, big and toothily, a look that Bruce did not like one bit. Tetch swiftly pulled out a gun of his own, and held it toward Bruce. They were at a draw, it seemed.

“Is it a shoot out that you seek? Because I would rather we lay down our weapons, and you listen to me speak!” Tetch told him as he took a step forward. Bruce merely gripped his gun a little harder. Well, at least his own weapon seemed convincing enough...

“Tell me what you want,” Bruce merely repeated, gritting his teeth, “Do you know where Jeremiah is? Is that why you led me here?”

“Jeremiah?” Tetch asked, his eyes almost glistening at the mention of the man, “Oh, you don’t have a clue! Put down your gun, and then I will tell you!” As a show of what was faith, Tetch raised his hands up, places his own gun upon the ground. Bruce wasn’t sure if he should trust the man, and he didn’t feel comfortable putting his only weapon down so they could ‘talk’. Tetch obviously realized that Bruce wasn’t going to cooperate, because he merely let out a dramatic sigh. He walked closer to Bruce, his arms still up in the air, until they were only around two feet away from one another.

“Shoot me then, I do not care. But if I die, the knowledge you seek will be gone, to that I swear,” Tetch’s voice lacked the harmonic tune it had earlier, which caused Bruce to hesitate. It caused Bruce to falter, his grip on his gun loosening barely, but enough. Tetch quickly reached his hand out, and tore the gun from his grip. Tetch held the gun up to him, and Bruce reluctantly put his hands above his head. He was compromised, at the man’s mercy. His heart was beating excruitiangly fast, his head spinning with possibilities on how he could escape. Tetch kept the gun pointed at him, and he back away enough to grab his own gun that rested on the ground and he picked it up, training now both guns at Bruce.

“This probably won’t come as a shock, but because you wouldn’t listen, now I don’t want to talk,” Tetch drawled out, and then without another moment spared, he shot his gun. There was a split moment where Bruce thought he was going to die as the bullet flew directly toward him. He wondered what would happen after he died. Jim would probably be disappointed in him because he went to face Tetch alone. Selina would be angry for the same reason. Alfred would probably be upset. Bruce was the only family he had left, and he did something as insanely stupid as facing a criminal mastermind alone. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the last thought that Bruce had before the bullet lodged into him though, no, it was Jeremiah. What would Jeremiah think? Would he feel relieved hearing about his death because Bruce wasn’t hunting him anymore? Would he be angry at Tetch? Would he be _sad?_ The questions plagued his mind until the impact from the bullet hit him. But it didn’t instantly knock him over as he thought it would, and it didn’t hurt as bad as he was expecting despite it directly hitting his neck. It didn’t even feel like a _bullet._ Bruce reached his hand up to his neck, and he realized what it actually was. Tetch shot him with some kind of dart. He pulled the item out of his neck, feeling a large sting as he did so. He instantly felt dizzy. The son of a bitch hit him with a _poisonous_ dart. He tried to speak but suddenly his mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton, and he could feel his legs giving out slightly underneath him. He was about to pass out, he knew the feeling far too well.

“Now the crown prince of Gotham will see, what it is like to be on the opposite side of the GCPD!” Tetch announced loudly, and although Bruce couldn’t see him he could tell by the man’s voice that he was smiling. Bruce couldn’t even process the words because his brain felt as if it were completely shutting down, and before he knew it he had passed out, dead to the world before he even hit the ground.

 

-

 

When Bruce woke again, reborn yet still the same, he was in the GCPD. He wasn’t sure how he got there, and his head hurt, _bad_. It took him a moment to remember what happened in the warehouse, and another to open his eyes and recognize that he was in the medical examiner’s room at the GCPD. Lucius was in the room with him, but his back was turned to Bruce as he sat at his desk in the corner of the room. Bruce frowned. Someone must have found him and brought him back here. Bruce groaned as he sat up, his whole body felt sore, probably because of whatever poison Tetch hit him with. Lucius instantly turned toward him because of the noise, giving Bruce a soft smile.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Wayne,” Lucius announced as he stood up from his chair, and walked toward the table that Bruce was laying on. Bruce frowned as he realized his uncomfortable placement, only a small blanket and pillow covering the hard surface. That might be a partial reason as to why he felt so _sore._

“Ah, sorry about that. I thought it would be best to monitor you to make sure whatever you got hit with was just a sedative,” Lucius informed him, “As far as I can tell, it has completely left your system. Although it is an odd substance, considering there is virtually no trace of it, not even left on the dart we found next to you. If you have any insight on it, I would love to know... do you?”

“How did you even find me?” Bruce merely asked he shook his head at Lucius’ question, he felt a bit restless for some reason. It wasn’t a foreign feeling to him, but it felt exacerbated. He felt as if he wanted to jolt up and go do _something,_ but he wasn’t sure what.

“Well it was actuall-” Lucius began speaking but was interrupted by the door to the room being slammed open harshly. Selina Kyle was entering the room, Alfred and Jim on her tail as she stormed in. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and oh boy, did she seemed scorned. Bruce raised his eyebrow at the scene.

 

“Wayne, you are such an idiot!” She hissed as she approached him, hitting him hard on the arm, hard enough that it would probably bruise. He usually would get why she hit him, but instead, now, he just felt annoyed, “I saw you outside my squat so I followed you, and I found you passed out on the ground with Tetch running out of the place, that sonofabitch almost shot me!”

 

“To be fair, you didn't have to follow me. That’s on you,” Bruce finds himself responding, watching as the anger continues to grow on her face, but not particularly caring that it does. “Also, can you please restrain from hitting me? I’m already kind of already sore, thanks.”

 

“Are you okay, Master B?” Alfred asked, his face full of worry. Everyone looked worried now that he looked at them. What was with them? Lucius just said the sedative was out of his system, and it isn’t like he was injured besides that, so what was their deal?

“I’m fine,” Bruce simply responded as he moved his legs out so they were leaning off of the table. He moved his neck around to crack it, trying to relieve some of the dull pain coursing through him.

“What were you thinking, Bruce? Going after Tetch alone? That was a dumb move, kid,” Jim says to him, and Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Predictable_. Jim Gordon, always thinking that he was better than everyone else, always thinking that Bruce was just some weak kid that couldn’t take care of himself. Always so very disappointed in him.

“He had something I wanted. So, I went to go get it,” Bruce answered as he hopped off the table completely. His legs felt a bit wobbly, but he ignored it and stood firmly, looking at the group in front of him. They were all staring at him. “What’s up with all of you?”

“What’s up with _you_ , Wayne?” Selina shot back, anger still painting her features. Again, typical. She was always angry. It was so _boring_. Couldn’t she do something a little less predictable? “You’re acting weird.”

“Okay?” Bruce replied, now openly rolling his eyes a little, “And you are acting annoying. So, we’re even.” Selina looked as if she were ready to pounce on him. Bruce just stared at her blankly.

“Master B, you must be exhausted. Let’s go back to the manor and you can take a nap,” Alfred tells him with what almost looks like pity on his face. Pity, sadness, those are what Alfred always felt for Bruce. So _dull_.

 

“No.” Bruce told him, flatout. His voice devoid of any emotion.

 

“No?” Alfred replied, furrowing his eyebrows at Bruce.

“I’m not tired, nor do I wish to go back to the manor so you can give me some speech about how you _are worried_ and how you _care about me so you want me to make better decisions,_ ” Bruce responds casually, not even bothering to look at Alfred as he does so, too busy grabbing his coat that Lucius had taken off of him and put on the table nearby.

“So what? You are gonna go do what? Find Tetch? Have him hurt you again? Find _Jeremiah_ ?” Jim begins to question him, causing Bruce to freeze. _Jeremiah._ That name alone seemed to satiate his restlessness, the drive of wanting to _find_ him and _catch_ him felt drastically appealing to Bruce, filling the slight _longing_ that he seemed to have. Finding Jeremiah was something that he wanted to do, something he _needed_ to do. He couldn’t just sit around the GCPD with Jim, or go back to the manor with Alfred. No, finding Jeremiah was the only option in his mind. So, he pushed past the group, ignoring their protests and the faint throbbing of his head, and began to make his way out of the GCPD as quick as he possibly could.

“Hey, kid!” A voice rang out. Bruce thought about just ignoring it, but it was Harvey. Harvey wasn’t someone that ever truly annoyed Bruce. He was harsh and honest, never pitying or distraught by his actions. He actually gave a pep talk once or twice that Bruce immensely appreciated. _So has Alfred and Jim. And you just walked away from them_. His mind supplied, but he pushed the thought away.

“Hey,” Bruce replied as he stood in front of Harvey, who wasn’t giving him a worried look like the others. Harvey merely grabbed his shoulder and gave him a wide smile.

“Glad to see you on your feet again. Tetch really did a number on ya,” Harvey said to him as he leaned back on a desk nearby. Bruce nodded, not bothering to use words to reply. _Why was he still there? He should be out finding Jeremiah_ . But no, talking to Harvey was important too, Harvey was his friend, _right?_

“Do you need a coffee or something? You’re spacing out,” Harvey pointed out, giving Bruce a slightly tense look. Bruce knew the questions were about to come. Then the worry would follow. Of course it would. They were all the same. Bruce, as kindly as he could muster, declined Harvey’s offer, and made an excuse about going to the restroom before he just quickly walked away, making is way out into the open air again. It was now day time. Mid-morning, probably around ten AM. Bruce could tell because it was light outside, and a few cops walking into the GCPD had coffee cups, along with the placement of the sun. He frowned to himself as he came to this realization. It felt as if he were suddenly hyper-aware of everything, he recognized to some extent that something was _wrong,_ but he couldn’t place his finger on what or why. There was a split second where he thought about walking back in the GCPD and telling all of his friends, his _family_ about what he felt like, but the insatiable hunger of completing his goal that he had been struggling for, to find Jeremiah was too great.

So, instead, he just went back to the manor and got his extra set of gear, and waited for night to fall.

**\---**

Bruce found himself back out on the streets right as the moon came up. He made his usual rounds, hunting down thugs and low-level cronies for any information he could find on Jeremiah’s whereabouts, but it felt… _different_ this time. He wasn’t thinking about bringing him into the GCPD anymore, there was no more end plan in mind, he just wanted to _find_ him. And then, then… what? He wasn’t sure, and thinking about it only made his thoughts race and his head hurt, so he just focussed on the task at hand. Everyone else seemed so _simple_ compared to Jeremiah, and Bruce was tired of simple. Just the short time he had spent in the medical examining room the GCPD with everyone and everything was exhaustingly dull. Harvey had seemed promising for a short moment, but quickly started to sound like all the others. Always worried for him, angry at him, _disappointed_ in him when he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Of finding Jeremiah on his own.

He feels strange, even more so than he did earlier in the day. He knows something has felt... off since he woke up. He sighed to himself, marking it down as the need for something to do. Maybe getting taken by down by Tetch shook him up more than he thought. He needed to focus on something new, something different, and what Jeremiah might have in store for when Bruce actually managed to find him, he knew it would be much more interesting, probably due to the fact that he couldn’t even begin to guess what it might be. _But that’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it?_ Raw and unpredictable unlike all of his _friends_ who seemed like they were following the same script every time he spoke with them. _He shouldn’t be thinking about them that way, they care about him and they were obviously concerned._ With some effort, he quieted his warring thoughts and continued on his mission, focusing entirely on his goal to find Jeremiah, and hopefully lessen the restlessness he had been feeling all day.

He eventually found his way into the Narrows, after having no luck with the few criminals he finds lurking around the bad parts of the City. There was a club there in the Narrows, _Rendebooze,_ it was notorious because of its usual patrons. Apparently, the Gilzean’s owned it, although originally it was said to be Maroni’s. Because of its infamous owners, any and every criminal scumbag in the city seemed to hang out at the place every once in a while, it was a crime hotspot that not even the GCPD bothered to enter because it was that utterly hopeless. Bruce waited in the back alley near the bar, there was a small fire escape that was mostly out of sight that gave him the high ground and a great view of all the people exiting from the back door. He waited there for a while, watching as people flooded in and out of the bustling club. There were some candidates that looked promising, some that had their faces painted as clowns or donned a similar style in general to Jeremiah. But he bided his time, like a predator waiting for prey, waiting for the perfect catch. And eventually, he found it.

There was a man, decently tall, physically fit stature. He wore mostly black, if you didn’t count the red trim around his boots. He looked like most of the men around the place, as if he were up to no good. The outlier between him and everyone else though, was a tattoo placed on his upper arm, showcased as clear as day due to the bright fluorescent lights of the club signs. A tattoo of a particular playing card, of a _Joker._ Bruce remembers back in Jeremiah’s bunker, the man had a joker card kept in a frame that was hung on one of his walls. Bruce, of course, asked him why, and Jeremiah shrugged and said that it was his father’s, so he kept it. It was the only sentimental type thing that Jeremiah seemed to keep around, and him using that as his way to distinguish his men, to _mark_ them, seemed like something he may do. The man was standing alone outside the club. Leaning against the wall, one of his feet planted against it as he puffed on a cigarette. Bruce weighed his options; he could either bide his time and follow the man from the shadows, hopefully leading him to Jeremiah or at least someone more important that could, _or_ he could take a more direct approach and get the information he wanted from the man _now_.

The restless feeling he was still unable to shake had been making him rather impatient, so he opted for the direct approach. It was riskier, he knew that, and he could hear Gordon’s concerned words from earlier echoing inside his head, but like _hell_ he will keep letting a man who repeatedly throws himself recklessly into dangerous situations tell him what’s for the best.

After descending the fire escape quickly and quietly, he casually made his way over to the tattooed man. Despite it being a less than savory part of town, he couldn't very well beat the information out of the man right outside a club filled with other thugs. He wasn't looking to draw that kind of attention to himself right now when he had a different goal to focus on. And, even with all his training, one on one was much preferable to one on fifty. He didn't quite have a plan, but knew he would need to get the man somewhere less visible, so he walked closer and spoke up.

"Excuse me," Bruce started, his voice not unkind, and the man turned to him slowly, "Would you be able to help me?" He kept his wording vague, waiting for a response so he could find an opening to get the man where he wanted him to be.

"Hmm. What's a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this anyway?" The man had a gruff, gravelly voice. Bruce imagined he must go through at least a pack of cigarettes daily. His unsettling comment was followed by dull, yellowed eyes trailing up and down Bruce’s body. _Disgusting._ But, he had at least found an opening, and even better, the man had not seemed to recognize him, despite the fact that Bruce happened to be the main focus of this man's boss. _Stupid. Incompetent. Jeremiah should have better people than this._

Holding back nausea at what he was about to do, Bruce forced a convincing and flirtatious smile. "I'm looking for some money to get a ride home. If you could help, I would be happy to provide you something in return."

"Money? Sweetcheeks, your gloves look like they cost more than what I make in a year. Not that the offer doesn't sound tempting, but-"

Bruce frowns. "My wallet was taken, this isn't exactly the best part of town for someone like me to be in, but I was looking for someone..."

The man smirks. He clearly thinks Bruce is a helpless rich boy and is willing to take advantage of that. What a repulsive man. Bruce thinks of how he will enjoy beating the information out of him. The man speaks up again. "Well, look no further, cause I think I got whatcha need. Name's Sheev." He extends his hand to Bruce to shake, and he reluctantly takes it, though he does his best to look grateful. "Though, maybe we should find somewhere a bit more, ehhh, private, for our transaction."

Bruce smiles cooly, nausea fading as his plan works out just as he had hoped. "You read my mind."

 

\---

 

Bruce leads Sheev back into a dark alley, about a block away from the hustle and bustle of the club, and turns to him.

"Ha, seems a little grimy for someone of your type, but I ain't picky."

Bruce is silent. He has the man where he wants him now. He'll let Sheev squirm for a little bit.

"So kid, what are your prices?" the man asks, sounding a little off put by the lack of a response, but giving a revolting smile anyway. Bruce grimaced. Disgusting. Predictable. _Of course._

"Depends on what you're looking for," Bruce replied simply, playing the part as he backed Sheev up against the alley wall. He lifted his hand as if to caress the man's face, though his own face showed no emotion. Before Sheev could react to the suddenly cold facade, Bruce had quickly shifted to press his entire forearm hard into the goon's throat.

“Jesus, kid! We haven’t even come up with a safe word yet,” Sheev choked out through his restricted throat. Fantastic. He was still managing to be a revolting human being. At least this would make it easier to do what comes next. Bruce pressed harder, causing the man to begin futile attempts to struggle out of the surprising strong hold. When Sheev kicked out his legs, Bruce kicked him hard in the shin, causing him to yell. Quickly covering his mouth with his free hand, and oh so thankful he was wearing gloves while he did it, Bruce shushed him gently.

“If you want this to be quick and easy, you’ll be quiet, and you will cooperate. Understand?” Bruce hadn’t even begun his questioning and he was already getting exhausted talking to him.

Fear filled Sheev’s eyes as he nodded as best he could in his current position, and so Bruce slowly removed his hand from the goons mouth and, while keeping his arm in place against his throat, reached into his own pocket, pulling out a small throwing knife Alfred has given to him years ago. Still sharp to the touch.

Bruce wanted this to be quick, so he got straight to the point. “Where’s Jeremiah?” he said through gritted teeth, though his thoughts almost started wandering again at his own mentioning of Jeremiah’s name. He trained his focus back on the task at hand.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid! Who _are_ you?” Well, at least he had some level of loyalty, enough not to give up any information on his boss at the first sign of danger. Still, Jeremiah should find someone better.

“Just tell me what you know.” Bruce demanded, trying to keep his voice level. He was quickly becoming frustrated, but perhaps he could get what he wanted from the man with little fuss and-

Suddenly, realization filled Sheev’s dull eyes. “You-you’re Bruce Wayne. Boss told us you might come lookin’ for him. I shoulda noticed when I saw your rich ass in those fancy clothes of yours.” He let out a choked laugh, airway still partially cut off. “What, did the GCPD send out their little helper for his very own mission? Maybe Jim Gordon himself sent you personally! Oh, Jeremiah would love to hear about this, maybe I’ll even get to talk to him myself-”

“ _Where_ is he?” Bruce was already on his last thread of patience, pressing the tip of the knife into the man’s gut, enough for him to feel it was there, but not enough to pierce skin. He wanted answers, and he wanted them _now._

“You know, it’s stupid of them to send a kid out on his own to a place like this.” Bruce hated how this man still found it in him to talk so much with his throat being pressed so hard. “Or, even worse, you were dumb enough to come out here on your own accord! Ha!”

Wordlessly, though seething inside, Bruce pressed the knife into the man’s flesh about a couple inches deep, slowly and, he hoped, agonizingly as well. He was not in the mood to hear this lecture again today, certainly not from scum like this man. Sheev yelped as the blade first punctured his skin, and hissed painfully as it sunk in deeper, tears beginning to form at the corner of his eyes.

“Tell me _now_ , unless you want me to do that all over again somewhere that’ll hurt much worse,” Impatience and anger finally begin to seep into Bruce’s voice, and he felt Sheev shake with fear through the handle of the blade held tight in his grip. It was… it was thrilling. Finally, this man was providing some semblance of entertainment.

Silence. He just kept shaking. Bruce was getting tired of this. He pulled the knife in and sunk it into the man’s flesh again a couple inches to the right. He screamed. Bruce seemed to stop caring if anyone heard at this point.

“P-please, I…” Sheev whispered between shaky breaths.

“You what? You haven’t answered me.”

“I-I don’t know… where he is, kid. They don’t- They don’t give me that kind of information.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Bruce breathed out in an eerily calm voice. Another stab, quicker this time and higher up, dangerously close to where his smoke-riddled lungs would be.

“I-” He paused to gasp at Bruce twisting the blade ever so slightly. “I-I don’t know! I swear I don’t!” He started yelling as loud as he could in his weakening state. “P-please someone come help me!”

Bruce should stop. This man clearly didn’t know anything, he was terrified and looked on the verge of collapsing. There was no point in continuing if he couldn’t provide any of the information Bruce was looking for. _Useless._ Before Bruce even registered his own arm moving, the blade was sinking deep into Sheev’s flesh again, and again, and again and again and again and-

“Stop!” Bruce suddenly yelled. Was he yelling at himself? At Sheev to stop that annoying whimpering? He didn’t know, he-

He was drenched in blood. He looked back up at the man who was staring at him with eyes much duller than before, but filled with a terrible fear. Directed solely at him. _Good. He should be afraid._ No, he should be getting medical attention right now. He was bleeding out, fast, and even if Bruce was strong enough to support this man’s weight on his own to carry him, there was no decent medical facilities nearby to fix this.

After a few moments of silence, the man managed to choke out a few weak, shaky words, “P-please, ha-” he took a raspy breath, and proceeded to cough up blood, “Have mercy, kid.”

 _Mercy…. Fine._ Lifting up Sheev’s chin, Bruce pulled the knife out of his stomach, earning a sharp gasp. In a one fluid movement, Bruce sliced a quick but deep line straight across the man’s throat, finally letting go of him completely and stepping back as he crumpled to the ground. Sheev convulsed a few times, making horrible choking noises, before his body finally stilled. His body. The body. There was no more _him._ This was a corpse lying before Bruce, not a man, a _corpse_ that he had made.

Dropping the bloodied knife, Bruce stepped back, hands shaking and mind racing yet feeling far, far too quiet. “No…” he dropped to his knees. “No no _no no no.”_ Despite repeating this to himself out loud, his thoughts were telling him that _he deserved this. He didn’t matter anyway._ He wanted to check the body for a pulse, but he was terrified to confirm what he could already tell to be true. He even went so far as to reach out to feel the limp wrist, but pulled back his hand, curling his fingers inward as he choked on his own breath. Another part of him was telling him to sink the knife in one more time, just to be sure the job is done.

He felt disconnected from himself, giving him an overwhelming feeling of vertigo. He was a killer. _He wonders what Jeremiah will think._ It’s all too much, Bruce just needs it to be quiet. He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, but quickly remembers the blood coating his hands all to way up to his wrists, now coating the area around his eyes as well. The nausea doubles as tears well up in his eyes, falling down his face and into the expanding pool of blood. He needs to leave, he needs to get out of here now, someone had to have heard the commotion going on in the alley. He can’t pick himself up though, he feels like his body isn’t his own, it’s all numb, and all he can do is shakily move back to lean against the opposite wall, and curl in on himself, heavy sobs wracking through him.

No one came. But _someone_ saw.


End file.
